


Tennis Ball

by Arazsya



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Dogs, Double Drabble, Drabble Sequence, Fluff, M/M, Multifandom Drabble Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arazsya/pseuds/Arazsya
Summary: Martin makes a new friend.





	Tennis Ball

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shoulder_Devil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/gifts).



Martin sits on the step out the back of the Institute, a folded man. His elbows rest on his knees and his face in his hands, fingers pressing stars into his eyelids. He can hardly breathe. It's all too heavy for him to carry. The statements. The others. This whole broken world.

There's a weight. Something warm, pressing against his shins.

He looks at it through blurred eyes, and something brown and white looks back and whines.

He's not going to cry over a dog. He's already crying. Over a dog, over more than a dog.

The dog sees, noses one of his arms out of the way, rests its chin on his thigh. Nudges a scrungy tennis ball into his lap, but doesn't back away or wait for him to throw it. No play bow, no wagging tail. It just seems to think he should have it.

"Thank you," Martin says, nearly chokes on the words. He smooths a hand over the dog's head, curls his fingers around to scratch in the soft place behind the one upright ear.

He wants to bury his face in its fur, breathe in the smell of it.

"Good dog," he says, meaninglessly.

* * *

It's raining, the first time he brings the dog in. Shushes her, even though Jon isn't there, is never there. Knows he shouldn't but she looked so sad, and if Elias has a problem with it, he'll just have to beat him to death with a pipe.

Tim's already in the panic room. The dog goes straight up to him, ignoring Martin's attempts to call her back, and then she shakes.

"It's fine," Tim says, over Martin's apologies, talking more to the dog. He holds something out towards her. Smiles when she takes it. Martin had forgotten how good it makes him look, and his next words struggle past a stammer.

"What's that?"

"Chicken," Tim says, without glancing up. Ruffles a hand over the dog's side. "Whose is she?"

"She doesn't have an owner."

"Doesn't she?" Tim finally looks at him, a knowing smirk on his face. "Seems like she's found-"

"I was going to take her to the park," Martin tells him, and the words seem suddenly too heavy for their sentences. "For a walk. You can come too. If you want."

"That'd be nice."

This time, Martin thinks, Tim's smile is for him. It's hard to breathe past.

* * *

They don't talk about work, at the park. It's a safe space, by their mutual silent agreement. The grass and the trees and the bushes have never heard of the Institute, and they won't.

The dog seems to like it there too, holds her tail high and trots ahead of them. Pauses every now and again, looks back to make sure they're still there. Waits for them to catch up, then dashes off again.

When he can finally distract her from trying to herd the squirrels, Martin teaches her to sit and lie down and roll over. Tim laughs when she licks Martin's face instead of doing whatever she's been told to, teases her with the tennis ball, that smile, the one he only ever has for the dog, pulling at his lips. Martin loves his face like that.

They kiss there, for the first time. In the rain, an all-pervading drizzle that's not enough for umbrellas but soaks them through by the time they get back to the Institute.

Another dog walker, leading a soggy, stubborn Labrador, offers Martin a thumbs up from the other side of the park, and it's all he can do not to return it.


End file.
